


Cold and Alone--It Suits You Well

by crossedsabers10S



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, An excuse for Fluff, Best Friends, Curses, Damon Salvatore Has A Heart, Enzo gets to live because I Said So, Explicit Language, Found Family, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Multi, No Beta, Sometimes a family is you your old cellmate and a random kid you guys found okay, Supernatural Illnesses, Theft, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29681556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossedsabers10S/pseuds/crossedsabers10S
Summary: Deadly curses, desperate plans, and revelations. Just another week in Mystic Falls.
Relationships: Damon Salvatore & Lorenzo "Enzo" St. John, Damon Salvatore & Original Character(s), Elena Gilbert & Damon Salvatore, Lorenzo "Enzo" St. John & Original Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Cold and Alone--It Suits You Well

**Author's Note:**

> Title's from Let's Kill Tonight, by Fall Out Boy
> 
> So I was going through all the Damon/Enzo and Damon & Enzo stuff on AO3 and there is Not A Lot of it; and you know how people tell you to write the content you want to read? Sorry, not sorry--I just really want Damon and Enzo’s story to have some kind of a happy ending. 
> 
> This fic is set in a world where Enzo and Damon escaped Augustine together. And yes. This is just an excuse to write found family fluff, why do you ask?
> 
> As always, the timeline is wherever you think it fits best. I do not own the Vampire Diaries. And the usual warnings for blood, gore, language, and drama apply. Probably OOC as well, because I cannot deal out the same level of Drama ™ that TVD can. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Damon hates _everything_.

Why is he still in this town? The only interesting part about it is the never ending parade of life and death situations that pop up like demented whack-a-moles on steroids.

And this newest one was particularly stupid. A witch with a grudge against Katherine--wow, _shocker_ that the bitch has so many enemies--had mistaken Elena for her evil twin and cursed her. And now Damon’s brother and the rest of the little friendship circle have invaded his house to conduct their _Let’s Save Elena_ meetings.

“Why do you need this particular magical MacGuffin again?” he asks, completely uncaring about interrupting Mystic Falls’ resident Scooby Gang from their lackluster scheming.

He’s doing them a favour. Really. For some reason, he can’t see Klaus taking Blondie using his cheerleader obsession to procure magical artifacts any kind of well.

Honestly, using an ancient supernatural entity who will definitely resent being used as a sugar daddy for one’s own gain sounds like a plan Damon would come up with if he was drunk. Very drunk.

~~Ah, Paris. Good times. Too bad about the resulting almost-death though.~~

“Because it’s the only way to cure Elena,” Bonnie explains again with forced patience.

Yeah, Damon actually caught that part, just-- “Why does it need to be a fifteenth century vase, though?” he wonders out loud.

It’s more than a little arbitrary.

Also looking annoyed with the sheer pickiness of magic, Bonnie shrugs and slams her grimoire shut with only a little aggression. “No. Freaking. Clue.”

“Guys,” Elena tries. “It’s fine. I can handle this,” she says, and then promptly coughs blood into a red stained handkerchief.

Damon just stares at her, deadpan. “Yes, because it’s _so_ normal for humans to do that and not, you know, keel over.”

Bonnie grimaces, but the fact that she hasn’t called him a dick yet means she agrees.

Meanwhile, Stefan, back on his bunny-diet and therefore lingering awkwardly in the doorway so he’s not exposed to Bloody Mary over there, asks, “But how can we get our hands on it? Hop on a plane and…?”

Damon doesn’t know why he’s been keeping his distance. Elena hasn’t smelt right since that spell hit her; less like food, more like road-kill.

“We can’t just steal it!” Elena protests. Like it wasn’t the key to saving her life.

“Then how are we supposed to use it? We need it for the antidote, remember?” Stefan asks, sounding frustrated that this isn’t a problem he can solve with a strongly worded letter.

For some reason more than a few eyes stray towards Caroline.

Yeah, no, Damon’s cutting that shit off before it gets their hearts ripped out by a werewolf/vampire with parent issues.

“Don’t sweat it, I know some people--I’ll just call in a favor.”

He ignores Blondie’s grateful look. It’s just self-preservation. He doesn’t know what exactly she has going on with Klaus, and really couldn’t care less, but he doubts whatever it is will save them in the event where Klaus catches on that Caroline is using her forever sweet face to wring favors out of him.

Stefan just looks wary. “A favor from who? You don’t have friends, Damon.”

Rude. It’s _his_ girlfriend Damon is helping.

And Damon has plenty of friends. More than he wants sometimes, even. He just never introduces them to his do-gooder little brother for a multitude of reasons but chiefly because Stefan makes his living as a professional wet-blanket.

Elena, too nice for her own good, says, “We’re his friends,” and resolutely ignores the faces of everyone else in the room, including Damon.

Still, he sends her a smile she doesn't see because she’s being wracked by painful looking coughs and doing her best to retch up her puny mortal lungs. Just looking at that makes Damon glad he’s dead and can’t get sick.

“What time is it?” he asks, sure that one of the teens in the room has their phone on them.

Caroline checks her cell. “Seven. On the dot. Why?”

He does some quick mental math. “So it’s, what, twelve in London? Close enough,” he decides.

Flashing upstairs, he grabs his laptop. Back downstairs, he sets it up on the coffee table, doing a quick check to make sure it has enough power. Unlocking it, he smirks at the lock screen--a picture of a diamond and emerald necklace and earring set on display at the Louvre. It had graced the neck of more than one empress.

Wonder if they’ve figured out it’s a fake yet?

Pulling up Skype, he ignores the way the rest of the gang all crowd behind him. Stefan even braves the sick-and-completely-unappetizing smelling Elena to join in.

“Who’s _tooclosetotheSunandfallingfast_?” Caroline asks.

Damon shoots a sharp smile his brother’s way. “Friend of mine. Met in the nineties.”

Stefan shrugs when the others look at him. “I don’t know them. I didn’t know Damon had friends,” he reminds them, still looking more than a little skeptical of the concept.

“Well, I do,” Damon says, annoyed at the surprised looks he’s getting. “More than one even!”

After scarcely a minute of them absorbing that, the call goes through.

“‘Sup, D?” Mini greets, wide awake despite the late hour where she is, headphones looped around her neck. Familiar blue eyes widen at the unexpected audience. “If I’d known I would have more company than just you, I would have put on a bra,” she snarks, sitting back in her computer chair and showcasing the pajamas she’s wearing.

Stefan actually stumbles a little, all vampiric grace deserting him.

Elena gasps and immediately regrets it as it triggers another coughing fit. She hurriedly raises her handkerchief so she doesn’t splatter blood on the screen.

Caroline, pats her on the back, but the blonde’s eyes are darting between the computer and Damon with increasing disbelief.

Raking dark hair away from her face, Mini sends Damon a look that very clearly demands to know what’s going on with this random group of strangers.

Damon makes a face back at her and shrugs, but he can guess why they’re freaking out.

With pale skin, dark hair, and those blue eyes, there’s a _reason_ Damon calls her Mini. There’s more than a slight resemblance between the two of them. As far as he knows, they’re not actually related, but they’ve been mistaken for it more than once and in more than one way.

Bonnie, bless her, is the only one unfazed. “Bonnie Bennett, witch,” she introduces, straight to business. “We need a vase.”

Mini raises a brow, but plays along after a glance at Damon. “Delilah St. John, witch. A vase? Should I assume that this isn’t for a Mother’s Day gift?”

Pained expression on her face, Bonnie explains further, “We need a vase from the fifteenth century. To break a curse.”

That still sounds dumb to hear. What kind of spell _is_ this? Yes, it’s slowly causing Elena to drown in her own blood and no amount of mystic interference--from vampires bleeding at her non-stop like it’s a blood-drive to a Bennent witch who Damon has stopped trying to deliberately piss off because of her power levels--can stop it, but the cure is mixing some random ass grab-bag of herbs in an overpriced _pot_.

Mini doesn’t even blink at the stupid, just ruminates over whatever witchy-logic is behind that. “Yeah, okay. I can probably get my hands on one of those. There’s an exhibit at the British Museum they’ve been advertising lately. Probably have to get a second opinion on it, though, just to make sure it’s the right age.”

Elena’s inconvenient morals overcome her shock. “You can’t just steal it!” she gasps, for some reason surprised that a friend of Damon’s first thought is theft.

Personally, Damon blames the fact that Mini is a twenty three year old college student currently wearing soft pink flower themed PJs. Damon should probably warn her that the pastel daisies hide a devious mind, but it would be way more fun to let Elena find that out for herself.

Mini snorts. “I promise you, that vase is not there legally. Really, it’s more like stealing it back.”

She eyes Elena consideringly, obviously recognizing her from the rants Damon would go on when he’s had slightly too much bourbon, but she keeps mum. Damon _so_ owes her a present for this. Maybe a new car? No, wait, she’s living in London right now.

Stefan interrupts Damon’s considerations on expensive stereo sets. “Who are you?” he asks, forehead wrinkled in a way that means he’s thinking about seriously investigating the matter.

Mini glances at him, unimpressed. “Delilah. Did you miss that part?” She focuses back on Bonnie. “Do you know what curse it is, specifically? The thing doesn't need any special care or prep, right?”

Bonnie blinks. “Crap. One sec,” she says, twitching a finger at her grimoire.

It floats over to her, settling in her arms like a cuddly puppy. She pats it once before opening it back to the page about the curse and begins to study it all over again, green eyes intent on the garbled Latin scrawl.

There’s a distant noise, too low to properly make out. On screen, Mini glances to the left. There's a quick curse—oh, hey, Damon taught her that one—and she stands, almost knocking over her chair in her haste.

“Mini?” Damon prompts, deliberately casual despite the almost-concern he’s got going on.

“Be right back,” she tells them and the screen goes black, call ended.

“Who was _that_?” Stefan demands, barely a second later.

Still staring at the blank screen, Damon says distractedly, “Delilah. She said it twice, are you going hard of hearing, little brother?”

Elena pipes up, “Damon, she looked just like you. I think we have a right to some answers.”

Damon tears his eyes away from his laptop. “You do? I don’t,” he tells her bluntly, ignoring the hurt look she gives him. It’s kind of ruined by the sickly smelling blood that dots her lips.

Completely ignoring the hint that Damon doesn’t want to talk about it, Stefan grabs at his shoulder. “Damon, who _is_ she? Not Zach’s…?”

“What? No.” Like Dear Uncle Zach could have spawned anyone fun enough for Damon to hang out with. He pointedly stares until Stefan removes his hand. “No relation. Believe me, I checked.”

Caroline, who had been so quiet Damon had forgotten she was here—probably her goal, actually, can’t be asked to play Klaus-bait if no one remembers your presence—wrinkles her nose. “Please tell me you did that _before_ you slept with her.”

Damon actually gags a little. And he thought he was over that reflex. “Holy fuck, Blondie, that is _disgusting_.”

Caroline has the audacity to flip her hair at him. “What? She was female. And alive. Just your type.”

There are so many things wrong with that sentence.

“I met her in the nineties!”

None of them catch on. Damon despairs for the common sense to person ratio in Mystic Falls.

“She was ten!”

Thankfully, before any of the rest of them can come up with any exciting new theories—Damon and _Mini_? He takes back the vampires can’t get sick thing, he feels nauseated—there’s an incoming call from _tooclosetotheSunandfallingfast_.

Damon accepts the call and Mini’s face pops back up, with an annoyed look that highlights the bags under her eyes. “Do I want to know?” Damon asks, wondering if he’s going to have to kill someone.

Mini rolls her eyes. “Some people just can’t take a hint.” She gestures offscreen. “Good news though! Those wards work _beautifully_.”

Damon snickers meanly. If he’s remembering what those wards were supposed to do correctly, there’s a still-smoldering body lying around somewhere. “That’s great, considering what we paid for them.”

Bonnie looks up at that, interested in the topic. “Wards?” she asks.

Damon cuts off Mini before the ensuing witchy-geekiness can commence. “So, about that vase. We need it as soon as possible.”

Mini narrows her eyes in thought, a picture perfect replica of Damon’s own scheming face. Stefan makes a noise like a squeaky toy being dismembered. Damon shoots him an amused look.

“No prep,” Bonnie determines, finally done interrogating her giant magic cookbook. “It just can’t be in contact with the light of the full moon a week before the spell casting.”

Good thing it’s the new moon tonight, then. Wait, are they actually getting _lucky_ for once? Damon isn’t sure he likes this new change of pace—it’s suspicious.

Mini nods. “Makes sense,” she says, like whether a rock in the sky reflecting light onto a pot or not logically determines anything. “We’ll have it by tonight. I can ship it out and have it ready for pick up in, oh, let’s say twelve hours.”

Damon shakes his head. “Yeah, no. I am not trusting airport security with a very old and very breakable vase. You bring it.”

Mini’s eyes widen. “You want me to fly to— No way. I have exams.”

Waving a hand, Damon counters that with a, “You’re taking online classes this semester.”

“I have a _job_.”

“That you don’t like and you don’t need.”

“Who will feed Menelaus?”

“Did you _really_ need to name your goldfish that? And you have friends. Get one of them to do it.”

Mini gasps, offended. “And trust them with my baby?”

Damon is unmoved. “A goldfish.”

Dropping the offended look, Mini smiles widely. “Is this your way of saying you’ve missed me?”

Brat. Damon wonders where she learned it from.

Damon smiles back. “As much as I’ve missed a pulse--so not at all,” he assures her. “I just don’t want to have to deal with airport security fumbling with anything less durable than iron. And, last I checked, ancient pottery isn’t iron.”

Still smiling, Mini tells him cheerfully, “I don’t know enough about ancient pottery to dispute that, but I’m sure you're wrong somehow.”

“I do _not_ care. Now. You should probably book those tickets soon. I hear those things go fast.”

“You missed us~” Mini sing-songs, completely ruining Damon’s ‘Older Sexy Danger Guy’ reputation.

“Shut your face. Don’t forget to pack your toothbrush.”

And with that, he ends the video-call.

* * *

Airports, Damon knows, make good hunting grounds and little else. They’re loud, gross and overly complicated. It is way too easy to get lost in these things and the only reason he isn’t is because he’s spent way too much time in them. As it is, he’s still got to pay attention to find the right gate.

“We don’t know anything about this witch,” Stefan says, _again_ , breaking through Damon’s concentration.

Yeah, because Damon clammed right the fuck up as soon as that call ended and the next thing the Scooby Gang tried to investigate was _him_. He had better things to do than pander to teenagers. Like get drunk.

He groans. “For the last time, I could care less about whatever trust issues you’ve got going on right now, little brother. This is your only option, unless _you_ want to be the one to tell Elena, ‘No, sorry, we can’t save your life, we need to run a deep background search on the delivery person first.’”

Stefan falls quiet at that.

Elena had taken a turn for the worse, bed bound and feverish before the sun rose. Damon is honestly shocked that Stefan has managed to pry himself away from her bedside, but maybe not, because Stefan _would_ take it upon himself to personally vet anyone involved in this nightmare--especially since they’re involved by doing Damon a favor.

Damon goes back to scanning the crowd. Let’s see, there’s the gate Mini had texted him and there’s the baggage claim, but there’s a bothersome lack of college students in sight.

He checks his phone, but there’s nothing relevant, just an unread text from Liz and another from Alaric. He swipes open Alaric’s, trying not to hope that Elena has been cured via mystery doppelganger powers or something, but it’s just a grim message about how Elena has been moved to the hospital.

Shit.

She’s getting worse quicker than Damon thought she would.

He opens the one from Liz, but it’s just a reminder about the next Council meeting; which Damon is probably going to skip because whatever new heights of paranoia they’ve reached has stopped being amusing. Winding them up used to be fun, but he’s had less time to put any good plans into motion lately.

“Where is she?” Stefan asks, increasingly antsy.

Damon looks up from his phone to scan the crowd once again. “Oh hey,” he spots her, “there she is.”

Mini spots them right back and soon enough she’s right in front of them.

“Hey, kid,” Damon greets. “Long time.”

Mini’s smile could have landed an airplane with how bright it is. “D,” she says, beaming. “Too long, it’s good to see you.”

Damon throws caution to the wind and pulls her into a hug. “You too,” he says into her hair. He pulls back in time to catch the tail-end of Stefan looking like someone’s tried to use his forehead as a runway.

His brother obviously tables that for later.

“Where’s the vase?” Stefan demands, giving Mini a once over that only lingers on her face a little. The kid gives him one right back.

And, as much as Damon hates to admit it, he has a point. She’s got a bag slung over one shoulder, but there’s no way it’s in there, and there’s nowhere else it could be.

Mini finishes studying him, and, man, does Damon regret telling her _anything_ about his little bro; in his defense, he didn’t think they would ever meet.

“Don’t have it.” She shrugs.

“You don’t _have it_?” Stefan repeats, incredulousness melting away into a quiet kind of anger. “What do you mean, you don’t have it? Where is it?”

A familiar voice comes from behind them. “Right here, mate.”

Damon doesn’t jump, but only because he knows he would never live it down. Stefan does, though, and Damon makes a mental note to tease him about it later. But first--

He turns around, unable to help the smile breaking out on his face. “Enzo.”

“Hello, Damon,” Enzo says, smirking at him, a crate just the right size for a vase under one arm.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone cares, yes, Enzo did stumble upon a miniature female Damon with witch powers and basically adopted her. Damon just got taken along for the ride. 
> 
> (She grew on him.)
> 
> And the only reason this hasn’t been slapped with a Damon/Enzo tag is because they have, like, two actual sentences of interaction. If I ever get around to continuing this it’s hella gonna be them co-parenting a witch and being cute together.


End file.
